


The moon and the stars (are nothing without you)

by Some_Dead_Guy



Series: Geraskier Oneshots [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Huddling For Warmth, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22747402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Dead_Guy/pseuds/Some_Dead_Guy
Summary: “Jaskier tries to puff warm breaths into his hands all the while trying to keep quiet so as to not bother Geralt, but both endeavors are apparently for naught when he hears Geralt sigh.“Get over here, bard.” He growls, voice rough but far less annoyed than Jaskier would have thought.“Uh, what?” Jaskier says eloquently, voice embarrassingly high pitched and despite his best efforts his teeth still clack together.“I can’t sleep if you’re going to make that much noise so get over here, Jaskier.” Jaskier moves quicker than he’d ever admit, unwilling to test the impatience he can hear in Geralt’s voice.”Or, Jaskier is cold and he has a lot of feelings.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier Oneshots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607311
Comments: 22
Kudos: 737





	The moon and the stars (are nothing without you)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for all the mistakes!

Jaskier pulls the thin blanket around himself even tighter, but no matter what he does his teeth still click against each other so hard his jaw aches. It’s  _ freezing, _ and Jaskier would give anything for a warm bed and a thick blanket, but they weren’t able to reach a town before nightfall so Jaskier has to sleep outside in the  _ freezing fucking cold _ .

His feet and hands are numb and he can hardly feel his face and Jaskier is going to be so pissed if this is the way he dies. He’s traveled with a Witcher most his life, has run into dozens of monsters and men alike who have wished him dead, and he’s going to end up fucking  _ freezing  _ to death. Hardly a romantic way to go, and Jaskier focuses on sulking over that fact to try and ignore how he can’t feel his fucking feet.

Jaskier tries to puff warm breaths into his hands all the while trying to keep quiet so as to not bother Geralt, but both endeavors are apparently for naught when he hears Geralt sigh.

“Get over here, bard.” He growls, voice rough but far less annoyed than Jaskier would have thought.

“Uh, what?” Jaskier says eloquently, voice embarrassingly high pitched and despite his best efforts his teeth still clack together.

“I can’t sleep if you’re going to make that much noise so  _ get over here _ , Jaskier.” Jaskier moves quicker than he’d ever admit, unwilling to test the impatience he can hear in Geralt’s voice.

Jaskier is settled in soon, awkwardly trying to position himself next to Geralt. At first he tries to do it with as little touching as possible, because as much as he’d  _ like _ to touch, he doesn’t think that’s what Geralt had in mind. That idea is soon abandoned though, because Jaskier can practically  _ feel  _ the warmth radiating off of Geralt, and he feels very little shame when his first instinct is to move in closer. 

He throws his arm over Geralt, lays his hand flat against his back, snuggles his face into Geralt’s chest and he pushes his legs in between Geralt’s thighs. It’s warmer, far warmer than the threadbare blanket that’s barely covering them.

Geralt grunts, doesn’t flinch away even if Jaskier knows he can probably feel the cold of his hands as they rub up against Geralt’s back, the cold of his nose against his collarbone. 

“You’re unfairly warm, you do realize this, yes?” Jaskier mutters, sighs against Geralt, his teeth finally stopping their insistent noise. 

“You’re practically your own fireplace.” Jaskier continues on, unperturbed when Geralt doesn’t respond, “Though I will ignore that you didn’t offer to be of service until I was dying too loudly for your sensitive witchy ears.”

“You wouldn’t have died.” Geralt rumbles, and Jaskier can feel the words where his ear is pressed against Geralt’s chest. 

“Yes I would’ve!” He protests petulantly, “I would be blue and frozen by the time you noticed anything. You would have woken in the morning and found me nothing more than a glorified ice pop if I hadn’t been so loud. Which I wasn’t, by the way. It’s not my fault you can hear everything within a ten mile radius.”

Geralt sighs, an exasperated sound that would have almost been  _ fond _ if it were coming from anyone else. 

“Shut up and sleep Jaskier.” 

Jaskier huffs but he does close his eyes. He’s worked himself into a light doze when he feels Geralt wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him just a bit closer. Jaskier’s breath hitches and he looks up at Geralt who pointedly avoids his gaze.

“You were shivering again.” He offers as a gruff explanation, and really Jaskier has no reason to complain.

Geralt rubs his arm across his back after a moment, sending shockwaves of pleasurable little tingles shooting down Jaskier’s spine. Jaskier sighs, the breath stuttering on its way out. Geralt is warm and large against him, and Jaskier melts into the comfort of the Witcher’s arms. Jaskier will take time to be embarrassed later, and eventually disappointed that he’ll never have an opportunity like this again.

Because, you see, Jaskier may or may not have the largest crush known to man on an emotionally constipated Withcher. 

Now, Jaskier is not stupid, he knows that these feelings will likely never be returned, but that does not mean he can not imagine that in this moment they are. He imagines that Geralt is doing this because he  _ wants _ to, because he feels something for Jaskier too, that this means more than some sort of obligation to keep Jaskier from dying from the cold.

Which Jaskier is grateful for, because he still doesn’t want to die by turning into an ice pop. But he can’t help but wonder what Geralt is thinking, how disgusted or uncomfortable he may feel but is still trying his best to keep Jaskier warm and alive despite it. Jaskier knows Geralt thinks him annoying, too loud and talkative, and well, Jaskier never had a reason to think he’s even  _ interested _ in men. 

_ Way to ruin your own mood,  _ Jaskier thinks bitterly, his hands twitching and his legs shifting, suddenly feeling a strange surge of guilt for throwing himself atop Geralt even if he probably doesn’t appreciate it. Though Jaskier believes he could never make Geralt do anything he doesn’t want to, considering Geralt has never been silent when Jaskier does something he doesn’t like, Jaskier still feels as if he’s somehow crossing a line.

He also feels a bit stupid, because Geralt has given no indication he’s particularly bothered but Jaskier’s thoughts are still racing and he’s tugging himself away before he can even properly think, anything to keep himself form thinking this actually  _ means _ anything. 

“What are you doing?” Geralt says, tightening his grip around Jaskier the slightest bit.

“Ah,” Jaskier shifts nervously, “Well, it has just occurred to me that maybe you don’t exactly want me  _ all  _ over you. A bit presumptuous of me, don’t you think?” Jaskier continues to pull away, no matter how much he doesn’t want to, but Jaskier doesn’t particularly enjoy unwilling participants in his affection.

Geralt grunts, tugs him forward again instead of pushing him away, “You’re cold, and you’re not bothering me.”

Jaskier huffs, “That’s a first, isn’t it? Not bothering you, I mean.” Jaskier clears his throat, “I’m quite cold all the time though, thanks for all the assistance during  _ those  _ moments.” Jaskier says sarcastically, hoping to distract him with a joke.

“I can hear your heart racing.” Geralt says suddenly, and Jaskier can’t help but flinch. Jaskier can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, so of  _ course  _ Geralt can hear it too.

“Must be the cold, then.” Jaskier murmurs.

Geralt hums disbelievingly.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asks eventually, and Jaskier’s brows crease, because as much as Jaskier knows Geralt must care at least a  _ little  _ bit about him, he is not one to express such sentiment.

“Nothing, honest. Just a bit cold, as I’m sure you can tell.” Jaskier answers, because he  _ really  _ doesn’t want to have this conversation. Jaskier doesn’t much like the thought of being thrown out on his ass and then left to freeze because he can’t handle his stupid crush.

(It’s more than a crush at this point, but Jaskier isn’t too fond of the idea of saying  _ I love you  _ anymore than simply telling Geralt he’s wanted him in his bed since day one).

“Why are you lying?” Geralt asks, gruff and to the point as always. 

Jaskier’s heart stutters in his chest, and he wonders if Geralt can hear it. “I’m not—”

“ _ Jaskier.” _ Geralt growls, and he looks down at him, pulling away enough to meet Jaskier’s eyes, “Why won’t you just tell me?”

Jaskier grits his teeth, feeling inexplicably angry because  _ how dare he,  _ “What do  _ you  _ care?” Jaskier says, and it’s a bit unfair, because he  _ knows  _ Geralt cares, he’s just got a shit way of showing it.

“We’re not  _ friends  _ Geralt, as you’ve made it so  _ abundantly _ clear.” Jaskier doesn’t want to do this, not here, not ever, but he can’t  _ stop _ now, “Don’t pretend you have any sort of concern for me, and do  _ not  _ pity me.”

Jaskier sits up, even if it’s so fucking  _ cold  _ and all he wants to do is curl back up against Geralt, but Geralt doesn’t  _ want _ that, not for the reasons Jaskier does.

Geralt looks up at him, and he looks confused and  _ hurt  _ just for a second before his face smooths out again. Geralt sits up too and Jaskier  _ dares  _ him to mention the fact he’s trembling so hard he feels like he’s going to shake apart.

“I’m not,” Geralt pauses, “I’m not pretending, Jaskier.”

Jaskier scoffs, and he  _ knows  _ he’s being unreasonable, that his hackles are raised because he’s  _ scared,  _ scared of what Geralt will do if he tells him that he needs him, that he  _ loves  _ him because he’s some stupid, lovesick bard.

“You can’t tell me you don’t care, that we’re not friends, that you wish I’d just  _ leave  _ already and then turn around and say the  _ opposite  _ when I get upset Geralt.” Jaskier feels like he’s drowning and he’s still so fucking  _ cold,  _ and he just wishes Geralt looked at him and saw more than just a  _ nuisance _ .

Geralt’s jaw clenches and Jaskier hopes he’ll drop it, get up and leave so Jaskier can sulk in peace and then go back to normal in the morning after he’s had a good cry. Geralt doesn't drop it.

“I do care about you.” Geralt says, and Jaskier feels like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs.

“I’m,” Geralt’s mouth hangs open for a moment and he looks  _ nervous,  _ “I am your friend.”

Jaskier swallows, and he feels the fight slowly drain from him, “Oh.” He says, crosses his arms and fidgets with his sleeves. Jaskier never thought Geralt would ever admit to being his friend unless he was on his deathbed, and Jaskier briefly wonders if one of them is about to die. Or maybe Geralt has been cursed.

“You can tell me what’s wrong.” Geralt whispers, tilts his head forward, as if he’s trying to get Jaskier to look at him because he’s stubbornly staring at the ground and refusing to look up at the Witcher. 

“Tomorrow.” Jaskier settles on, “When I’m not on the verge of freezing to death, I’ll tell you.” Jaskier says, and his heart gives a heavy beat in his chest, and he’s not sure how likely it is that he’ll  _ actually _ tell Geralt. Geralt only just  _ now  _ admitted to being his friend, how is Jaskier supposed to confess his undying love for him  _ the next morning _ ?

Geralt stares at him for a few moments more, and Jaskier meets his gaze this time, but the Witcher eventually nods and lays back down. 

“Okay.” Jaskier breathes, and lays back down next to him because he’s still to fucking  _ cold  _ and this is going to be the last time he'll ever be able to.

Because Geralt is going to leave the next morning. 

He already hates a bard who calls him  _ friend  _ nipping at his heels like some lost pup, so Jaskier is not stupid enough to believe that some annoying bard who  _ loves _ him will be allowed to continue following him. He burrows closer to Geralt, tells himself it’s strictly because of the cold, but he’s always been quite shit at lying, especially to himself. 

Geralt is as warm as ever, and he puts his arm around Jaskier like he hadn’t been almost yelling at him only moments prior. Jaskier buries his face in Geralt’s chest because he can feel tears stinging at his eyes and he wonders when he was ever  _ this _ bothered by his feelings for Geralt.

He’s hit with the sudden, desperate _ need  _ for Geralt to stay, to not leave. He doesn’t want to lose Geralt, even if he knew that it was inevitable, and he can’t stop the few stray tears the roll down his cheeks cheeks. He feels vulnerable and like an  _ idiot _ , but they won’t  _ stop _ .

He’s trembling, and he knows Geralt can feel it, can probably  _ smell  _ the tang of his tears but he blessedly says nothing. He only holds Jaskier just a bit tighter, holds him like he actually  _ cares  _ and Jaskier’s heart does a violent flip in his chest that makes him feel nauseous.

Jaskier eventually falls asleep, eyes stinging and chest tight, but Geralt is still there, he isn’t gone  _ yet  _ and Jaskier finds selfish comfort in the Witcher’s body pressed so tightly next to him. No matter if it doesn’t last, because Jaskier has  _ here,  _ this moment, and it’s almost enough.

_______

Jaskier wakes slowly come morning, blinking open his eyes lethargically. His face feels puffy, his eyes raw from crying and there’s a dull throb of a headache beginning right behind his temple.

Then, he realizes that Geralt isn’t there anymore and his heart stops and he bolts up even if it makes his head throb sharply. He frantically thinks that Geralt has abandoned him, left already, unwilling to deal with whatever shitstorm that had made Jaskier upset last night.  _ And he didn’t even get to tell him _ , because even if Jaskier knows he will be shot down, rejected, he at least wanted Geralt to  _ know. _

But then he sees Roach, and Jaskier knows for a definitive fact that Geralt would never leave Roach behind, even if he’d have very little qualms in dumping Jaskier off in the middle of nowhere and riding off fuck knows where. His heart calms it’s thundering beat in his ears and when he turns around the Witcher is there, cooking something over the fire and looking up at Jaskier.

He looks concerned, his big golden eyes wide and his dark brows tugged down into an adorably confused expression. It’s stupidly endearing, unfairly so, and Jaskier wishes that he wasn’t so  _ weak _ , that he didn’t care so much for someone who will never even feel a  _ morsel _ of what he feels back.

“Jaskier?” Geralt says questioningly, that puppy-like, soft look still on his face.

Jaskier swallows thickly and forces a smile onto his face, “Good morning, Geralt. What is it for breakfast this time? Tasteless soup? Charred squirrel?” His voice sounds strained, so obviously ingenuine in its lightness that Jaskier has to suppress a wince.

Geralt frowns, and he looks and  _ looks  _ at Jaskier, seeming as if he’s stuck between studying Jaskier and scrabbling for something to say.

Jaskier beats him to it, because he doesn’t know how to shut his mouth and all of this has become unbearable, and Jaskier just wants to get it  _ over  _ with.

“You want to know about last night.” Jaskier says, not a question, and he tries for flippant but his voice falls flat.

Geralt hesitantly nods.

Jaskier sighs and he looks somewhere off over Geralt’s shoulder, because he can’t bear to look at him during whatever spiel he is sure is about to rapidly spew from his mouth.

“So, Witcher, it just so happens that I am your friend. And I know you don’t like that word, but I’m going to say we’re friends no matter what you want to say otherwise.” It makes him think of last night, makes him think of  _ I am your friend. _

Geralt hums and it just gives more room for Jaskier to ramble.

“And I care about you, even if you’re hard headed and you complain about my singing, even though I think you’re going to die every other day. I’m getting wrinkles just thinking about it.” Jaskier laughs wetly, and summons the courage to look at Geralt.

Geralt’s smiling, a small thing, a smile that’s hardly even there but Jaskier’s heart stutters anyway. Why does he have to be so _beautiful,_ especially why _now_? 

And  _ why _ did Jaskier have to go and fall in love with a Witcher?

Jaskier exhales shakely, “And you leave people who care about you behind. And I don’t want you to leave me.” Jaskier’s voice breaks and he  _ hates  _ it, because he’s so stupid and  _ vulnerable _ and  _ Geralt is going to leave him. _

Geralt frowns and opens his mouth, and Jaskier should probably wait for him to say something but he doesn’t want him to send him away, not before he can get everything out.

“And I love you.” He breathes out in a stuttering rush, squeezes his eyes closed because he’s too much of a coward to  _ look _ , “Gods, I love you. And it’s stupid, because I annoy you and I’m loud and I  _ know  _ you don’t want me. But, I want you to know, I want you to know before you leave.  _ I love you _ , Geralt of Rivia, because you’re beautiful and brave and heroic and you’re not a monster.  _ I love you _ –”

Then there’s a hand on Jaskier neck and his eyes snap open and Geralt is there, kneeling in front of him with a wide, open expression that’s a mixture of awe and hope. Jaskier didn’t expect that, he expected disgust, anger, but not  _ this _ .

“You love me?” Geralt whispers, and he sounds astonished, like he could have never imagined that Jaskier would.

Jaskier laughs, but it’s more of a bark, a high pitched, shocked noise that punches out of his chest, “Yes, quite obviously. I’m not being particularly subtle about it.”

Geralt’s hand travels up to his cheek and he wipes the tears there, tears that Jaskier didn’t even notice. Jaskier breathes, for a moment, lets Geralt look up at him in silence with his  _ stupidly  _ amber eyes.

“You don’t have to love me back. I know you’d don’t. It’s fine, I’m fine, really.” Jaskier says, to fill the silence, and he’s really not fine, so obviously not. 

Geralt stares at him for a moment, as if Jaskier is being a bit slow and it makes Jaskier feel a twinge in his stomach and he’s sure that he’s about to start crying  _ more  _ when Geralt says, “Who said I don’t love you?”

And Jaskier can only open his mouth, then close it and Geralt just  _ looks _ at him, seeming almost amused because of Jaskier’s speechlessness. 

Jaskier eventually clears his throat, “What are you trying to say?” And his voice isn’t above a whisper because he feels hope trying to bloom in his chest and it’s a dangerous feeling.

“I’m saying,” Geralt mumbles, and his thumb is still caressing Jaskier’s cheek, “I love you, too, even if you are an idiot and you drive me up the fucking wall.”

Jaskier laughs, high and giddy and surprised, closes his finger around Geralt’s wrist, feels the slow beat of Geralt’s pulse. 

“I’m not sure if I heard you right, Witcher–”

“I love you.” Geralt repeats, reaches his other hand up to cup Jaskier’s face and he  _ melts. _

“Oh.” He breathes, “That’s nice, weird and new and strange, but  _ nice _ .” He holds Geralt's other wrist and he looks at Geralt and he’s going to be so pissed if this is some wonderful fever dream he got from getting sick because of last night.

Then Geralt kisses him, and he’s sure it’s not a dream because he knows his imagination is not  _ this  _ good. Geralt is warm and he’s crowding up against Jaskier and then he’s suddenly  _ everywhere _ , leaning into Jaskier and taking everything he can, biting and sucking his lips and chasing his tongue.

Jaskier makes a soft noise and presses just as hard back, unwilling to be embarrassed by the fact it’s quite hard for him to keep quiet, and he doesn’t pull away until he’s certain he’s on the brink of suffocating.

He pants for a moment, and Geralt looks at him, as if he’s expecting Jaskier to say something.

“So, it turns out that I was mistaken.” He mumbles, and he smiles when Geralt gives him an exasperated huff.

“I thought I was being a bit obvious.”

Jaskier sputters, “ _ Obvious?  _ Are you telling me you were being  _ obvious?”  _ Jaskier nearly screeches, “Telling me to fuck off for the past decade is not  _ obvious,  _ Geralt I swear—”

Geralt interrupts him with a kiss, “I don’t let someone who I actually want to fuck off follow me for a decade.”

Jaskier pouts but concedes, “I  _ suppose _ , but you could’ve been a little nicer to me. I would have appreciated it, at the very least.” Jaskier says, and rubs circles on the back of Geralt’s hands with his thumbs and it feels strange to be allowed to. It’s a good kind of strange, though.

Geralt hums and he kisses him again, and Jaskier is sure he’s never going to be able to get used to it. He also knows he’ll never get tired of it, and if Geralt allowed it he’d like to kiss him all day.

“We should get going.” Geralt says, but he makes no move to get up and he’s still leaning into Jaskier’s space.

Jaskier only hums and leans in again, and he doesn’t know how long they stay like that together but he does know that he never wants to let go.

(When they do leave, Geralt lets him ride Roach and Geralt is a comforting warm weight pressed against his back and Jaskier likes the thought of this being his forever).

**Author's Note:**

> Lowkey hate this fic but I spent forever on it and there’s a part or two I like about it so,,,
> 
> This also ended up a lot angstier then I meant it to,,, like I was going to do like complete fluff but things just kinda happened
> 
> Hope you enjoy anyway,,


End file.
